SPF 38D
by Vivi Dahlin
Summary: After a sunny day at the beach, Olivia gives Amanda some extra special TLC. 870-ish words.


**A/N:** Someone suggested hurt/comfort + smut, and this was the result. I regret nothing.

* * *

Air hissed between Amanda's teeth when she inhaled sharply, shrinking away from the cold sting. It was the first time that summer she hadn't wanted to be touched by those hands, which were usually warm and inviting, but now felt like they belonged to a white walker. Her shoulders were on fire, and Olivia Benson was the damn Night King.

"I told you to put on more sunscreen," admonished the Night King herself, though lightly and tempered by deep affection. The way she scolded the kids for sneaking table scraps to Gigi and Frannie when her back was turned. She gentled her touch, palms just grazing the scorched skin that extended from Amanda's neck to the small of her back, as she smoothed on another thick layer of aloe lotion. Each stroke was accompanied by a sympathetic hum that sounded almost like purring. "You burn so easily, poor baby."

In spite of the red-hot pokers sizzling beneath the surface of her entire upper body (that was the last time she'd bob around in waist-high beach water with the kids, pretending not to see Olivia waving the pink Coppertone bottle from the shoreline), Amanda began to enjoy being fussed over. Her head throbbed, she felt vaguely like puking, and in a few days, she would be a walking scab—but Olivia's tenderness and mother-henning made it all worthwhile. Pretty much.

"Okay, my love." Olivia's voice was far more soothing than the balm. She took Amanda by the inside of her elbow—one of the few available patches of unburned skin left—and urged her to turn around. "Towards me."

Amanda obliged, wearing the poutiest, most pathetic expression at her disposal. It was only a slight exaggeration. She really did feel like death warmed over. And over and over. She may have been pushing it with the little whimper when Olivia worked more of the lotion into her chest and down her arms, though.

A small, knowing smile formed on Olivia's lips, but she continued the delicate ministrations, the occasional tsks of her tongue. She hadn't changed out of her bathing suit yet. It was a two-piece, circa 1950's pin-up girl—cherry red halter with a devilishly tempting bow in the back and high-waisted floral bottoms that ruffled just above the thigh. Dark hair caught up in a perky ponytail, also beribboned in vibrant red. Pure cheesecake. And with all that perfectly bronzed skin holding it together . . .

Suddenly, Amanda was no longer parched. In fact, her mouth was watering. She toyed with one of the ruffles that disappeared between Olivia's crossed legs, flirting it back and forth with her fingertip.

"Really, lobster girl?" Olivia asked, eyeing her with a mix of incredulity and humor. "Now?"

"You can't prance around looking like that all day and expect me not to want your hot little— Ow!" Amanda winced as the prickling cold aloe seared the skin under her eyes and down the bridge of her nose. That time felt a bit deliberate, but she wouldn't be deterred that easily. "Besides, lobster is an aphrodisiac, so . . ." She traced her finger along the cleavage of Olivia's bikini top, outlining the shape of a heart.

"That's oysters, you—" Olivia's voice hitched when Amanda rubbed a thumb across her bra cup. She cleared her throat and gave a quick toss of her ponytail. "_You_."

"Well, excuse me for not knowing my crustaceans."

"Oysters are mollusks, not crustaceans."

"Are we going to argue shellfish, or are you going to take advantage of me in my weakened state?" Head tilted, Amanda swept her hair alluringly over one shoulder—and immediately regretted it. Dried stiff by sun and marine water, the blonde strands were like sandpaper on her inflamed skin. She cringed out a smile.

Olivia snorted. "Sorry, but third-degree burns don't really do it for me."

Heaving a dramatic sigh, Amanda slumped against the pillows at her back. She would never admit it, but she was too exhausted and sore for sex right then, anyway. "Ow. Fine. But can you at least show me your tits, so it's not a total loss?" She thrust her bottom lip forward prettily. "Please? It would really help me feel better."

"Oh my God. You are hopeless." Olivia shook her head in disbelief, ponytail swishing. But after some initial huffs and an obligatory eye roll, she reached around to untie the bow Amanda had been itching to pluck at all afternoon. Holding the long, loose sashes closed behind her, she fixed Amanda with a stern look that was undermined by a faint twitching at the corners of her mouth, and the absence of her reading glasses: "Five minutes is all you're getting. And this is a one time thing. Don't expect a free nudie show for every totally preventable injury you incur. Next time, I'm revoking your boob privileges."

"Yeah, yeah, I got it. Ignore the tips, forget the nips." Amanda waved her hand impatiently. She flashed a wide—and painful—grin to show she was kidding. "Whip 'em out, sugar britches."

"You're lucky I love you, you ornery little shit."

Amanda settled in with a weary, happy sigh as the bikini top fell away. "I know," she agreed decadently. "I'm the luckiest little shit this side of the Triborough."


End file.
